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dining rooms, the fourth held overnight accommodations. Lily knew from experience that Dan could be a while, and she was too tired to wait.
    â€œThen I’m off,” she said, and called over her shoulder as she left, “Thanks again for the risotto.”
    She was thinking that if George had been straight, she could be seriously interested in him, when she reached the street and found Terry Sullivan leaning against the wide stone stoop. He looked innocent enough in the gaslight’s glow, but a part of her was starting to feel harassed. She had refused him three times. He was annoyingly dogged.
    She went quickly down the steps and hit the sidewalk in something just shy of a trot, in the hope that he might take the hint.
    â€œHey, hey.” He fell into step with her. “Where’re you running to?”
    â€œHome.”
    â€œMind if I walk along?”
    â€œThat depends. I haven’t changed my mind about your interview.”
    â€œBut it doesn’t make sense. The publicity would be great for you.”
    Lily might have agreed several years before, but she had been struggling then. Now, between teaching and the club, she received two fixed monthly paychecks. Add what she earned playing at private functions, and she was content. She didn’t need more work, hence didn’t need publicity.
    â€œIs it me?” Terry asked. “Does something about me offend you?”
    â€œOf course not,” she said, because it wasn’t her way to hurt people. “I’m just… private.”
    â€œIt’s the public you I’m interested in—the one who rubs hips, so to speak, with people like Cardinal Rossetti.” He made a whistling sound. “That was amazing, the two of you playing tonight.” He took a long breath. “I really want to do this interview.”
    They reached a corner. She shook her head, waiting only until the traffic cleared before trotting across the street.
    He kept pace. “Are you sure it isn’t me? Would you talk to one of my colleagues?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAh. You hate the press. You’re afraid someone will misuse your words. But I’m a good guy, Lily. How can I not be, especially with you? I’m Catholic, and you’re Cardinal Rossetti’s pal. Would I dare do anything bad, knowing it’d get back to him, knowing I might risk eternal damnation if it did?”
    Lily didn’t believe in eternal damnation, but if Terry Sullivan did, that helped. She slowed down a notch.
    â€œI feel like I should know everything about the guy,” Terry said conversationally. “I mean, my paper’s covered him from head to toe, and the Post is good.” He looked at her, earnest now. His voice was lower, almost confidential. “Listen. The Fourth Estate has taken a lot of flak lately. Some of it’s deserved. Most isn’t. It’s like everything else. There may be a few bad apples, but that doesn’t mean we’re all rotten, and since I’ve already confessed my fear of eternal damnation…”
    She had to give him credit for being upfront.
    â€œWhat’s so fascinating,” he went on, seeming caught up in it, “is the way the Cardinal is so normal . I mean, there he was, sitting beside you, playing the piano. I half expected him to start belting out the words.”
    Lily smiled. She couldn’t help herself. “Oh, he’s done that too.”
    â€œYou’re kidding.”
    She shook her head.
    â€œIn public? ”
    â€œIn private, in small groups. He used to do it more, before all this.”
    â€œYou mean, before he was named Cardinal?”
    She nodded again.
    â€œSo you met him in Albany. What was he like then?” He sounded genuinely intrigued, not at all grilling as a reporter would be, but more personally involved—and Lily was a sucker for fans of her friend.
    â€œWarm,” she said. “Vibrant. But I actually met him in